The Adventures of Sherlock's Massage
by TGREBIJKSR
Summary: Sherlock is stressed and John knows the perfect way to rid him of that stress- a good old fashioned massage :D K -shrugs- ONESHOT


**random idea i got while watching a show xD hope you enjoy my first Sherlock-slightly-Johnlock / first not MattxMello fic :D im actually proud of this one n.n yeeee.**

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Sherlock, John noticed, was stressed.

And if there was one thing the army doctor knew, it was stress. He had, after all, been in the war. Though he had rather enjoyed it, it could also be quite stressful at times. He had stayed up long nights and had to be on call at a moments notice. Much like with his flatmate, he thought as he sipped his tea. Living with Sherlock Holmes was much like being back in the army; long nights, always on call. But unlike the war, he actually cared about the detective. That's not to say that he _didn't_ care about his patients he saw overseas, but he had no connection to them; unless, of course, it had been someone he knew. He wasn't the heartless one, after all.

"Sherlock," John called to the detective who was, at the moment, lying across the couch with his hands templed under his chin. He was staring at the bullet-ridden smiley face spray-painted on the wall above him with a thoughtful expression on his face. Upon hearing his name, he turned toward John and raised his eyebrows. "Come here, Sherlock." Sherlock dropped one eyebrow but sat up, looking quizzically at the doctor.

"I'm working on a case, John," he said, pulling up one dark blue sleeve and holding out his arm; there were three nicotine patches up his arm. 'A hard case', he had told Watson hours prior. "I cant be bothered."

He got up, nonetheless, and sat on the chair opposite John, pulling his long legs up to his chest and re-positioning his hands under his chin. John sighed and stood up, walking to stand in front of the detective, crossing his arms over his chest. Sometimes, living with him could be like living with a two-year-old; he was so stubborn, John thought. "You're stressed," he stated in a very matter-of-fact way.

Sherlock groaned. "Give it a rest, please, John. This is a very important case. You know I wouldn't be working with my _dear _brother if it weren't," he said as John walked around the chair he sat in. "I need to figure this out! I don't want to work with that insuffer-ah.." He trailed off as John gripped his shoulders, softly kneeding his thumbs into his shoulders. "He's insufferable, John. I dont want to- ah- um, work with.. him.."

The detective was finding it very hard to concentrate when John was behind him, rubbing his shoulders in that way he was. It felt nice, he deducted, as John's hands went four centimeters lower, to rub the space between his prominent shoulder blades. He hadn't really had the time for a massage before, and probably wouldn't have allowed it if he didn't agree. And John was the doctor, after all.

"What were you saying?" John said with a slight smirk, the right corner of his lips barely turned up. It wouldn't be noticeable if you didn't know the doctor's expressions well, but - fortunately - Sherlock did, and he could see that certain expression mirrored back to him in the glass of the case holding an ax. (It was part of a new experiment, no need to worry - Mrs. Hudson sure had.)

"I don't want to work with my brother, John" Sherlock said as he slid his arms down to grip the arm rests of the chair he sat in. John's thumbs slid a few centimeters lower as his palms rubbed the backs of his shoulder blades.

"How childish," John stated. Sherlock didn't even need to look to see he still had that smirk on his face; that smirk that told him he knew he was right and, for once, knew a bit more about Sherlock on the subject - much like about the solar system.

"It's not childish!" he said defensively. "Me and Mycroft do not get along! You have seen how we interact together and I think it would be best, for-" He stopped abruptly as John pushed his forward slightly, pressing on the base of his neck as he did so, and pressing his thumbs into the small of the detective's back. Said detective made a noise somewhere between a strangled moan and a yawn.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that last part, Sherlock," John said, laughing quietly under his breath. He continued to rub circles on Sherlock's lower back. The dark haired man wrapped his arms loosely around his knees, grabbing one wrist with his other hand, and pressing his forehead to his knees. He knew it was going to leave a red mark, but didn't care. The massage felt too good. And it wasn't like he was going anywhere; it was far too late for that. If they needed to do some shopping or gather more information for the case, they would do it first thing in the morning.

"Shut up, John," he said, the sound slightly muffled by his knees. John smiled down at the detective, thinking about the first day the met. He didn't know why exactly that exact memory had come up at a time like that, but it had. Much like the night prior where he began to think of the night they were 'fugitives'. That was before the whole Moriarty incident was past, he thought with a grimace. He sure was glad that was over.

Sherlock made another half-moan sound and arched his back inward, lifting his head the slightest bit to see John's reflection on the case in front of him. "Where did you learn this?"

"Learn what, Sherlock?" John asked in response. He loved the name; Sherlock. It rolled off the tongue.

"Learn to give back massages like that. You know exactly what I meant, John." The detective rolled his eyes before dipping his head back down to touch his knees. It was getting late and the sun was beginning to set, turning Sherlock's hair a lighter hue of brown than it naturally was. John had the sudden urge to run his fingers through the wavy, soft-looking locks.

"I didn't really _learn_ it anywhere, it's just something I can do, I guess." He shrugged, a simple rise and fall of his shoulders, before moving his hands back upward to press into Sherlock's upper back once more. The detective turned his head so his cheek rested on top of his knee, and watched John in his slightly blurred reflection.

" 'S'getting late," Sherlock mumbled sleepily, rubbing his cheek against his knee, much like in the manor a tired cat would, John noted.

"It is. I think i'm going to head to bed now," John pulled his hands away and stretched. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back at him before standing up, stretching as well. "Yes. Goodnight, John. And thank you," he smiled at the doctor. "I'll have to make you do that again sometime. Soon." John nodded, and with that, each man went to his own room replaying the scenario over and over in their heads.


End file.
